


Unspoken Things

by A Passing Housewife (flourchildwrites)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Drunk Dialing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Missing Scene, My First AO3 Post, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 22:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13623036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourchildwrites/pseuds/A%20Passing%20Housewife
Summary: “Is that an invitation?” Roy Mustang finally uttered, his voice husky and deep, a far cry from his usual playful register.  If it was an invitation, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to refuse.“Just a fact, Roy.  A girl has to be prepared.  You’ve burned me before.”  Hawkeye had all but abandoned Elizabeth’s octave, and the playful flirtation evaporated.  Her words were unfair; they mirrored the reality Riza and Roy inhabited.





	Unspoken Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! I hope you enjoy my first attempt (in a very, very long time) at fan fiction. I'm definitely a FMA Brotherhood (anime) fan, and a huge Royai shipper! I love their complicated relationship, layered in dark secrets and loyalty. 
> 
> This piece is set after the death of Maes Hughes, right after Roy recovers from his battle with Lust. I know, I know... I miss Maes too. It still breaks my heart.
> 
> Anyway, please read, review and comment. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

“Elizabeth,” Roy Mustang said. The dark timbre of his voice reverberated from Riza Hawkeye's receiver. “How is my favorite subor—lady this fine, fine evening.” Liquor colored his cheeks, but it had not unburdened the Colonel’s troubled mind. The recent loss of Maes Hughes weighed heavy on his heart. How long would the center hold in these uncertain times?

On the other end of the line, Hawkeye gripped her phone with uneasy anticipation. The First Lieutenant’s voice, however, remained smooth as silk, safeguarding her grave concerns. Elizabeth was ready for action. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Sounds to me like you’ve got a little liquid courage keeping you warm. Why call me?”

“Liquid courage, huh… You could be right about that,” Mustang admitted, scratching the back of his head. Hearing her voice, even as Elizabeth, seemed to dam the flow of emotion that Hughes’ death occasioned. And if he was being honest, whether as Miss Hawkeye, his lieutenant or Elizabeth, she’d always been salve for his soul during the worst of times. 

Hawkeye released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “You know, I get complaints at all hours. For a moment I thought you were a tough customer with a problem. Do we have a problem, Mustang?”

The Colonel smiled despite himself. Was truth always the best medicine? Gin seemed to have some effect. “It’s nothing we can’t fix, my pet. No customer complaints tonight. Just questions… about things… unspoken things.”

“Unspoken things,” echoed Hawkeye. She pressed her back against the nearest wall and slid to the cold floor. This was code of a different kind, subtext. When it came to Mustang, she admitted ruefully to herself that her technical imagination came to life. “We’ve never needed words before. You read me like a book. Anything in particular you want to know tonight?”

Read me like a book… Hawkeye’s comment conjured memories of the first time he saw the secrets of flame alchemy emblazoned on her back. He’d taken in more than just his master’s research. The curve of her waist. The slope of her neck. Her short blond hair begging to be twisted and turned between his fingers. In that moment, she’d become more than Miss Hawkeye, his master’s daughter. Years later, that image still consumed him.

“What are you wearing?” Mustang growled. The thought slipped through his lips like melted butter. Poison, not medicine, he decided.

These words ignited equal parts indignant pride and prurient interest within Hawkeye. There was no doubt; the Elizabeth pretense was a spectacle for an audience of two, not an ill-intentioned eavesdropper. The lieutenant’s quick response came as a surprise to both conversation participants.

“You know me, Roy. Only my best friend,” she said while audibly patting her sidearm. It wasn’t a particularly accurate statement but interest had triumphed. She enjoyed flirting with Mustang more than she had any right to.

And the Colonel faltered. The melancholy thoughts that first obliged Mustang to call Hawkeye were all but forgotten, warded off by the reverie of a thousand explicit fantasies previously filed under “wildest dreams.”

“Is that an invitation?” he finally uttered, his voice husky and deep, a far cry from his usual playful register. If it was an invitation, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to refuse.  


“Just a fact, Roy. A girl has to be prepared. You’ve burned me before.” Hawkeye had all but abandoned Elizabeth’s octave, and the playful flirtation evaporated. Her words were unfair; they mirrored the reality Riza and Roy inhabited.

Hawkeye thought back to that night. In truth, her recollection was fragmented, unbound by time or totality. Still, the scene played before her eyes. Mustang’s somber resolve, blood on the bathroom tile, the smell of burning flesh, the look in his eyes as he surveyed the fruit of his terrible favor. Yet, through the pain, she’d felt cleansed, less than whole but not incomplete. The memory of Mustang’s strong hands, trembling as he frantically tended her wounds and the sound of his confident voice, so meek as he begged forgiveness. Those memories were stronger. Roy Mustang was the victim. Hawkeye slew him with his unyielding loyalty for her.

Elizabeth protectively snapped back into focus, “I’ve got to go. If there isn’t anything else you need to know… Good Evening, sir.”

Mustang heard the receiver click. The Colonel’s head buzzed with memories, some happy, some sad, some better left in the dark recesses of his mind. All were about her; Maes Hughes was forgotten for the time being. The easy solace (and ample liquor) of Madame Christmas’ Bar beckoned. Roy Mustang added the import of this conversation to the substantial list of unspoken things between himself and Riza Hawkeye, his center, his queen.


End file.
